[Taxidea]

fable name: Lyterius

Death came whispering when Lyte was expecting a roar. So soft and gentle he didn't see it until it had slipped past his usual defenses -- leaves just about to break from the branch, birds deep in cheerful conversation, the steady crunch of footsteps over the ground -- and when it almost casually tapped him on the shoulder, his first instinct was to open his heart in welcome of a stranger. And so death crept in, startling in its sudden heat. Lyte paused, confused, extending one wing to maintain balance as he stumbled. The inferno burst inside him, ricocheting through every limb. He thought, briefly, how he always expected it to be cold. Instead, he was caught in a heat wave washing through him, pooling in every crevice. He watched through watering eyes as the foliage that adorned him floated on an unseen breeze to form his shroud, the once vibrant orange tones withering to a charcoal gray. Each proud vein was now crumpled, folded into a distorted echo of the tight shape it held before it first bloomed. The forest fire he was becoming collapsed to its knees, sparks jumping when he landed. He blinked, and he was staring up at the smoldering sky, his antlers already digging a grave as they cut into the soil. He moved to take a final breath and found that it had already gone, choked in a plume of smoke. Lyte suddenly understood why they called it Fall.

His first journey through the seasons was a weapon, seemingly harmless until it exploded into the next stage. Born in Winter, he barely recalled the first days of smallness. There was a sense of protection even as he shivered beneath the snow, a too bright light reflecting off every surface when he tried to open his eyes. Spring was where his first true memories began, where he gloried with energy as it pulsed through his every fiber, crying for more more more. Each heartbeat had a new rhythm, as if still learning the music to which it had been set. But Spring was fleeting, its momentum so grand it crashed into Summer while still only half-formed. Suddenly, Lyte was heavy with green and the steps of a dance not quite understood. The long days gave him time to find his feet, the choreography creating lightness as he spun and twirled with the breeze. Moments seemed to slow, an equilibrium achieved. But an itching sense of foreboding seeped into the grooves in his bark. A quick snap of his head at the sound of a cracking branch, and he was meeting an unfamiliar reflection as he bent to sip from a stream. That was how Death found him, and Lyte burned at Fall's end.

He found Life in a different place. Essence carried on an unfelt litter, the cord of connection with his body a tenuous possibility, he reached for another chance. A melody played through him, and he felt each note sing in his soul. Ferried toward Death, he felt Life all around, one on each side of the coin placed on his tongue. Searching, seeking, Lyte struggled to keep from being washed away by the song. Life paused, sensing the disturbance, and listened. Few would desire to return once they had felt the comforting arms of this world, but it saw in Lyte a determination to keep trying. Life seized at this rare chance, and it asked a boon: if Lyte agreed to preserve the names of those caught between Life and Death — standing on the banks of the river but unable to cross — he could go back. The cacophony within Lyte swelled in crescendo, playing backward as Lyte swam up its stream. He found Life’s offering and wrapped it in acceptance. Pain burst all around, though the carving of his flesh was distant and indistinct. Lyte was willing, but still he faltered beneath the strain. Death had been quick and gentle, but Life was a bargain with suffering. Yet Lyte was now a purposeful vessel, and he would hold together as he was cracked apart.

A promise conveyed and an oath accepted, he was flung forward to the beginning. Ripping back into his body, he found the world once again white and unseeable. The names, suddenly connected with the upper world once again, reached for the sky, turning to icy veins as his body rose against his wishes and burst through the frosty crust above. He writhed against the cold compulsion, fear consuming him. Frozen limbs shook to stand even as he longed to lie back down. Then, warmth. The last ember of a sunset, the glimmer of its light easing his burden. It was small, but it was enough. Melting as he was suffused with an inner glow, he fell back into his hollow and searched for the heat's source. It was faint, but the strains of a familiar harmony coursed through him. He followed it deeper until he was met with its epicenter, igniting a spark of fear. Where once he knew the beat of a heart, he now felt only the consoling flames of Death. It was then he understood that while Life's covenant would ensure that Lyte continued, Death’s inevitability was relief for the Forgotten.

And so, Lyte lives on, lying in wait through Winter, emerging triumphant in Spring, luxuriating in Summer, and bowing in Fall. Sustained by his compact with Life, he carries the song of Death within him. He returns to their world every year to take up more names and start anew, each cycle a fresh agony and solace.

Now you must decide: which of these is the lie?
- The heart that fuels it is not of this world.
- There are names carved into the wood of its body, but it has forgotten who the names belong to.
- It has never died.

[Loadingconstella]

fable name: Úlanwa

We Begin with Bird.
If you don't wish to go through this, everything is written here, with which is the truth and which is the lie right at the bottom.

[beignet]

holy mark

[luminescence ✧]

mark <3

[eel.]

fable name: Mora
entry: here!

what a gorgeous fable.